“As I told you,” Jérôme said loudly to be heard over the crowd and the band, “we work hard in Champagne, but then we celebrate.”
“With champagne.”
“Mais oui.But of course.”
When a roving accordionist stopped to ask for requests, Rosalyn shouted out:“‘La Vie en Rose’!”
Jérôme winced. “You’re such an American.‘La Vie en Rose’is about the most stereotypical tourist song ever.”
“I don’t care,” Rosalyn said as the beautiful notes of the song filled the air. “I’m ready to be sappy, and stereotypical, and seela vie en rose. I’m ready for a little color in my life, pink or otherwise.”
“If it was good enough for Édith Piaf,” said Emma, lifting her glass in a toast, “it’s good enough for us. Here’s to seeing life through rose-colored glasses.”
?“I have a surprise for you,” said Jérôme, hours later, after they had eaten—and drunk—their fill.
“I don’t love surprises,” replied Rosalyn.
He laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“I believe you. But you’ll like this one. Fancy a walk?”
“I think I need one.” She was feeling the effects of the champagne and the meal, and she surreptitiously loosened the top button of her red skirt. Leaving Laurent in the care of his grandmother, they headed down the Rue du Barbâtre and onto the tree-lined Boulevard Victor Hugo.
Rosalyn recognized the route. “We’re headed to the Pommery champagne house?”
Jérôme nodded. “I know one of the cellar masters there, a fellow named Marius. He got permission for me to take you exploring in thecrayères.”
“Are you serious?”
“I thought you might want to replace the memory of what happened the last time with a nicer one.”
Rosalyn smiled. “That’s sweet, though the overriding memory is of you and Emma saving me, and then making me tipsy on champagne for the first time in my life.”
“In French we have a saying:Bien fol qui ne s’enivre jamais.It is only a fool who never gets drunk.”
Rosalyn laughed. “That’s a handy excuse for indulgence, isn’t it? So, have you ever written poetry yourself?”
“As a young man, I poured my heart out on the page on more than a few occasions. Wretched stuff. True ‘dreck,’ I think is the word?”
“That is a word, yes. But I’ll bet it wasn’t as bad as all that.”
“Oh, I assure you, it was. I hate to admit it, but I think farming is a far better use of my time. And reading, of course.”
Upon arriving at the champagne house, Jérôme spoke briefly with a security guard, and they were permitted into the reception area. They crossed over to the entrance to the caves. Descending the steps with Jérôme by her side, dressed in their costumes, felt so different from when she had come by herself, for the party.Shefelt different. And she saw the caves in an altered light now, knowing what she knew.
“You told me Lucie’s family stayed in a niche called Dakar,” Jérôme said. “It’s down this way. I have a torch.”
Thecrayère’s main corridors were lit overhead, but many of the smaller tunnels were dark. He switched on his flashlight as they got farther away from the stairs, turning this way and that.
“Like I was telling you before, all kinds of valuable things were hidden in these caves, to keep them from the invaders.”
Jérôme squatted to show her a rough opening in the wall, close to the floor. It was just big enough for a person to crawl through.
“This opens up to a private stash, for example. Marius showed it to me.”
He handed her the flashlight; she crouched down and pointed the beam through the hole. Inside were stacks of ancient-looking wine bottles, covered in grime.
